


The Winds of Change

by 1917farmgirl



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: A How Everyone Meets Story, AU, F/M, Marshal Dylan Hunt, Orphan Harper, The Eureka Maru is a ranch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-04-30 08:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14493357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1917farmgirl/pseuds/1917farmgirl
Summary: Beka thought she had it all - a good life on the "Eureka Maru", a handsome fiancé, and the freedom and respect to live her life how she wanted. Then that scrawny kid showed up and it all went to pot.AU re-imagining of Andromeda.  Started in 2005.





	1. Prologue

**The Winds of Change**

**Author’s Note:** This story is an AU retelling of Andromeda. Rather than being set in outer-space in the far future, it is placed in the “Wild West” of America’s past in the year 1860. All of the first season characters are present, but they might be slightly different in order to fit the setting and events of this story.

**Prologue**

Rebekah Valentine shielded her eyes with one hand as she stared off into the west, a frown turning the corners of her lips down. The dark clouds were quickly bearing down on her across the rolling landscape and still there was no sign of anyone. If her fiancé didn’t get his sorry behind home soon, he was going to get caught in this storm, and she darn well wasn’t about to go out looking for him. 

A sudden, intense gust of wind whipped her skirts up wildly and she swatted them down – annoyed. 

Beka Valentine was a woman of her choosing. Never mind that civilized women were supposed to conform to certain mores and standards; Beka did what she wanted, when she wanted, and if that bothered anyone, well that was just too bad. With only her own blood, sweat, and guts she had taken the worn down ranch she inherited from her father and turned it into something of which to be proud. Granted, she was still heavily in debt to the bank and her father’s creditors, but she was steadily paying it off and the “Eureka Maru” was starting to blossom. So anyone that wanted to criticize her social conduct could just take a hike, preferably right off a cliff. If she felt like wearing trousers, she was going to wear trousers, and if she felt like a dress, she would wear a dress. Today, she had felt like a dress and now she was starting to regret her decision. She was suddenly reminded how much she hated wind and weather. 

Glancing once more into the coming storm, Beka scanned the horizon for any sign of movement but found none.

“Bobby Jensen, you are on your own,” she grumbled as she climbed up the steps, stomped across the porch and into her house, slamming the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Beka woke with a start when she heard the barn door bang loudly. With a small moan, she realized she’d fallen asleep in the hard rocking chair waiting for Bobby and consequently everything was stiff and aching. It was now the middle of the night and the lantern she’d left in the window had burned very low. The prairie winds still continued to shake the little, frame house, however, and the sound of harsh pounding on the roof told her that rain had been added to the mix. Wondering if the wind had somehow caught the barn door and swung it open, she pushed herself up and stumbled to the window to check. 

_Or_ , the more cynical part of her mind added, _it could be a bandit or outlaw looking for somewhere to hide out from the storm._

With a frown, she mentally told her cynical voice to shut up, but she still grabbed her pistol from its holster at the door before reaching the front window. Straining, she peered out into the swirling blackness, trying to see through the driving wind and rain. After a moment she could just make out the imposing shape of her barn, a blacker mass in the general darkness. Looking closely, she saw that the door was shut, just as it should be. Nothing appeared amiss and there was still no sign of Bobby. If he had even one ounce of brains in his head (and sometimes Beka seriously doubted that) he most certainly must have holed up in town to ride out the storm. He wouldn’t be coming back until it was over. 

She waited a few more minutes but there was nothing suspicious enough to make her brave the storm in the dark. Whatever it was, it could definitely wait until morning when the weather might decide to be decent again. She was getting too jumpy; imagining things that weren’t there. With one last look out of the window, Beka picked up the sputtering lamp and headed upstairs to her bedroom. It was time to get some real sleep. 

But she kept the pistol with her, just in case.

*****

The faint light of dawn trickled through the window, proving that the storm had finally blown itself out as Beka pulled herself out of bed. With a sigh, she rummaged around for some clothes to put on, her only criteria that it not be a dress today. Eventually, she unearthed a slightly rumpled white cotton shirt that buttoned down the front and lacked a collar. She quickly pulled it on and tucked it into a pair of worn, brown trousers. They were a bit tighter than was respectable, but Bobby never seemed to mind. Still half asleep, she pulled on her boots and strapped her pistol at her hip. Finally, she splashed a little water on her face to help her wake up and ran her fingers through the blonde hair she kept cut short, another breach of social conduct. Her toiletries complete, she ignored the messy bed and left the room – she had chores to do.

By the time she entered the big barn, Beka was fully awake and enjoying the fresh morning air. As much as she hated storms, a good rain always did make it feel like everything had been washed clean. With a smile, Beka grabbed the pitchfork and started to toss some hay to her stock, savoring the sweet scent of the dry grass as she went. It was such a beautiful day she could _almost_ forgive Bobby for not being there to help out – almost.

She finished feeding the horses and was thinking about heading back to start breakfast when something near a large pile of hay at the back of the barn caught her eye. Cautiously, she moved closer to investigate. As she approached, her frown deepened and she instinctively drew her gun. Poking out from her hay, in her barn, was a small and very dirty hand that most definitely didn’t have her permission to be there.

*****

The town of Andromeda, Wyoming Territory was like any other small town on the American frontier. Clapboard buildings sprang from the ground and clung tenaciously to the few streets carved out of the dust. Someone must have had grand plans for this little one-horse town to give it such an auspicious name. The potential was there, but it was still waiting to live up to its name.

Bobby Jensen frowned as he made his way to the Livery Stable. The storm that had forced him to stay in town at the hotel was finally over, but it had left the streets a muddy mess, churned up by endless wheels and hooves into a lumpy, brown soup that splattered everything. Reaching the building, he quickly ducked inside to make sure his precious cargo remained tucked safely and undisturbed in the back of the wagon. That box was the reason he was still stuck in town. The idiot he’d been supposed to meet at the contact point was over two hours late, and by the time he’d gotten the cargo hidden in the wagon it was too dangerous to head back out to the Maru. 

Satisfied that nothing had been disturbed during the night, Bobby weighed his options. He really should head back out to the ranch; Beka was probably hopping mad by now, but the saloon was calling him. One little drink wouldn’t hurt. Besides, who was he to let a woman run his life? His mind made up, he left the stable and turned right down the boardwalk toward the swinging sign of “Pieces of Eight” Saloon. 

Two hours later, Bobby had passed his one drink limit by three and was steadily working his way into a nice drunk. Consequently, he didn’t at first notice the dark shadow that stepped up and blocked his view. It wasn’t until a chair scrapped out from beneath the table that he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. 

“Mr. Jensen, how nice to see you again.”

Bobby scowled, trying to place the voice that dripped with oily politeness. Then the fog lifted slightly from his brain and he recognized the face of Dexter Gerentex, Andromeda’s banker.

“What do you want, Gerentex?” Bobby growled.

“Only a moment of your time, Mr. Jensen, nothing more.”

Bobby snorted. “Well, hurry it up then, I don’t have all day.”

Gerentex pulled a smile that gave his pointed little face a rat-like quality. “I can see how _terribly_ busy you are. It must be exhausting, working so hard.” The banker looked around at the saloon and his nose wrinkled in distaste before he continued speaking. “But that is beside the point. The terms of your loan are almost up, and still I have seen hardly a cent from you. I can’t keep giving you an extension, especially when you continue to drink or gamble what money you do make away. I’m an honest business man; I have to think of my own livelihood you know.”

“Gerentex, you are about as honest as a porcupine is cuddly,” Bobby laughed at him. “You’re just living high off the work of others who are too desperate to fight you.”

The banker’s eyes narrowed and his next words hissed out. “May I remind you that you are one of those people in no position to fight me. I could have you thrown in jail for defaulting on a loan, and I have the papers to prove it.”

Bobby sighed, suddenly tired of playing this game. “Look, I’m trying, okay. Just give me a few more weeks and I’ll have all of your money, I promise.”

“That’s not good enough, anymore. I need something more solid, some insurance that you will come through this time.”

“But I don’t have…” Bobby started to protest, but his words trailed off as a thought suddenly occurred. He didn’t have anything to put up as collateral, but he knew someone that did: Beka. The Eureka Maru wasn’t his, but it really shouldn’t have been Beka’s either. Women had no right to own property; it was a wonder no one had challenged her on it before now. Besides, he and Beka were practically married and as soon as the formalities were out of the way, the Maru would be his in name as well as deed. All that aside, if he played his cards right and delivered a few more boxes of “cargo” Beka would never need to know about any of this at all.

“Gerentex, would the mortgage on a ranch be enough collateral to get you off my butt for a while?”

A greedy glint stole across Gerentex’s face and he smiled. “Quite enough. Why don’t we go to my office and formalize the agreement in writing?”

Bobby tossed off the last of his drink and nodded. Grabbing his hat, he got unsteadily to his feet and followed the banker out the door. 

*****

Gerentex was wearing a feral grin as he gazed out his window at the figure of Bobby Jensen moving away from the bank. That had been too easy – like taking candy from a baby.

He didn’t even turn around when he heard the door open and someone enter the room.

“Is it done then? Did he do it?”

“He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.”

“Good. I’ve planned too long for this, put too much work in it to fail. I need that ranch before my plans can progress any farther.”

“Just a little more patience and you’ll have it,” Gerentex assured him.

“Patience? Don’t tell me to be patient, not when it should have been mine all along. But they’ll see. In the end, Sam Profit always gets what he wants.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Beka glared at the figure out cold in her hay, angry that her more cynical side had been right last night. He might not be a bandit or an outlaw, but he was most certainly trouble. Someone with nothing to hide would have just asked to use the barn, not sneaked into it. With a resigned sigh, she looked him up and down. He was sleeping so deeply she thought for a moment he might be dead, until she saw the thin chest rise and fall slightly underneath the ragged shirt. Since he posed no immediate threat, she took the opportunity to study him closer.

The small, dirty hand that had first drawn her attention was attached to an equally small, dirty body. Asleep, he didn’t look a day over twelve. Hair that would have matched the color of the straw he slept in if it weren’t so filthy stuck up straight from his head, as if in a vain attempt to make him look taller. He wore a ragged shirt that in a previous life might have been a tan color, with the sleeves rolled up to hide the fact that it was too large for him. His pants, also too big, were held up with a piece of rope and just as ragged as his shirt. And his feet were bare, although it was hard to tell since they were so black from dirt he might just as well have been wearing shoes. Underneath the pitiful excuse for clothes, Beka noticed that he was painfully thin and his breath seemed rather haggard. He was also shivering strongly and she realized his clothes were still damp from the night’s storm. As a particularly violent tremor wracked his frame and started to pull him awake, Beka saw one last thing that made a chill run up her own spine – both of the boy’s wrists and ankles were ringed in dark bruises and open sores.

A moan escaped the kid’s lips and Beka pulled herself together. She had almost been feeling sorry for this scamp and that would never do. He was a trespasser on her property and she wasn’t going to fall for the ‘pathetic waif’ routine. He didn’t look it, but out here it could mean death or worse to underestimate a threat, especially for a woman alone. If this kid turned out to be a homicidal maniac, there was no one for miles around to help her. She was determined to keep the upper hand here. As his eyelids started to flutter, Beka planted herself directly in his view and leveled her gun straight at his chest, waiting patiently. 

She didn’t have to wait long. A few moans and one hacking cough later, blue eyes peaked out from behind eyelashes and he was awake. For a moment, he seemed dazed and unaware of his surroundings then he caught sight of sunlight glinting off metal and instant alertness returned. He visually followed the gun to her arm and up to her face, and his eyes widened in fear. Instinctively, he scooted backwards and raised his hands.

“Look, lady, I can explain!”

The kid’s voice was annoyingly nasal and it grated on her already frayed nerves. There was something else about it as well, but she couldn’t put her finger on it at the moment. 

“Shut up,” Beka growled and his lips snapped shut. Good, she was scaring him, just what she meant to do. “This is my barn and my property and I call the shots here. You talk when I give you permission, you move when I give you permission, and you breathe when I give you permission. You answer my questions with the answers I want to hear and I just might let you live long enough to appreciate that. You give me the wrong answers, however, and my finger might accidentally slip. Understand?”

From his seat in the hay the kid gulped and nodded.

“Stand up,” Beka ordered and he immediately scrambled to his feet, but Beka noticed he moved stiffly. Drawn to his full height, she could see he was older than she had thought, but he was still inches shorter than her.

“Empty your pockets. And remember, I’m watching every move.”

He hesitated for just a moment, but the gun never wavered so he complied. Beka watched in fascination as two rocks, one knife, four nails, one slingshot, a grubby handkerchief, one sock, a soggy roll, a rabbit’s foot, and one tin whistle somehow emerged from the depths of his ruined clothes. He held them protectively for a second, then reluctantly set them down on the ground and turned back to Beka. His eyes looked straight into hers for the first time and she was shocked at the intensity of the blue orbs. They were ages older than his face and whispered of pain, loss, and determination. And right now they were also filled with pleading. 

Suddenly, Beka didn’t feel quite so tough. In fact, as she watched this boy spread his few pathetic belongings out without a word, she felt rather sick. If he was a homicidal manic, he definitely needed to invest in some new tools of the trade. With a sigh of frustration at how easily she fell for hard-luck cases, she lowered the gun slightly.

“What’s your name?” she asked in a softer voice.

“Harper.”

 _Harper_? That was a new one. She raised her eyebrows quizzically at him, not satisfied with the response.

“Seamus Zelazny Harper,” he tried again.

 _Oh good lord, the kid’s name was bigger than he was!_ Seamus? _Zelazny_? His parents must have been drunk; no wonder he stuck with Harper. Suddenly, a thought tickled the back of her brain: Seamus… Now she knew what she was missing. Underneath that nasal voice she could just make out the remnants of a faint Irish brogue. It didn’t answer any questions, but it stopped her brain from puzzling unnecessarily. 

“So, Harper, care to explain what you are doing in my barn, and how you ended up here?”

He swallowed before he spoke, eyes still clearly fixed on her gun. “Well, I was just headin’ for town when that storm struck. I thought it would blow over quick if I kept walking, but it just never stopped. I was pretty wet and tired and when I saw your barn, I decided to just wait inside until it quit. I never meant to fall asleep and if I’d known you would object so much I wouldn’t have come in at all!”

“How do I know you haven’t just escaped from prison or something?” she asked with a pointed glance at his wrists and ankles. He saw the look and angrily stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving her a glare.

“I didn’t escape from prison and I ain’t done nothin’ wrong, lady, unless it’s a crime to be freakin’ wet and cold.”

She frowned but didn’t pursue it. Obviously a touchy subject - time for the next question. “Why were you going to town?”

“To find work.”

She laughed a little as she looked him up and down. “You’re not old enough to be out on your own, let alone looking for a job!”

“Hey!” he yelped, clearly offended. “I am too old enough. I’m older than I look. And I’ll have you know I’ve been working since I was five, so don’t give me any of that crap.”

She suspected the words were meant to prove his maturity but they just made her sad. 

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty,” he said proudly and tried to stand a little taller. She also noticed his eyes giving her the once over and liking what he saw. Mentally, she sighed.

“Twenty?” she repeated and her eyebrows climbed to the sky while the hand without the gun came to rest on her hip. “Uh…huh, try again.”

“Seventeen,” he said, a little less cockily. 

“Already passed or coming up on?”

“Well, I will be on my next birthday.”

“Which is…?”

“In July,” he muttered, looking at his feet. It was August. The kid was barely sixteen.

Beka ran a hand through her hair and tried not to smile. 

She certainly had all the luck. First, she found a starving kid in her barn – one who obviously was hiding from something and not telling her the whole truth she reminded herself as she thought of the sores on his wrists and ankles. Second, despite her best efforts, she fell for the pathetic routine, started feeling sorry for him. Then, to top it all off, she realized she was actually starting to like him! He made her want to laugh and not many people did that lately. 

A rogue thought leapt into her brain and she jerked. _Nuh huh. Nope. Nada. Not even a chance_ , she told herself and tried to squash it. _He’s filthy_ , she reminded herself. _He’s also on the run from something or someone_ , she added sternly. _And_ , she pointed out to her own brain as she remembered the appraising look, _he’s full of raging hormones!_ But as she was arguing with herself, she watched the kid double over in wracking coughs. Ah ha! she added to her mental argument, _he’s also sick, probably with something deadly. There was no way_ , she thought firmly. _No way..._

“You hungry?” 

_Darn it, did she say that out-loud?_

The kid just blinked at her, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“I said are you hungry?” Beka restated, holstering her gun as she spoke.

“Do birds lay eggs?” he finally replied sarcastically. “Yeah, of course I’m hungry, why you askin’?”

“Because I was just about to fix some breakfast and if you can lay off the sarcasm, there might be enough for two.”

His eyes widened in disbelief and she could almost see his mouth watering, but he hesitated. “How do I know you ain’t just gonna lure me in there to shoot me?”

“Because, I never kill someone before breakfast. Ruins my appetite. Now after breakfast, that’s still up for discussion,” she said and gave him his first smile. He seemed satisfied with the response, but before he could say anything, another bout of coughing seized him and Beka frowned again, wondering just what she was getting herself into. 

“Come on, don’t die on me here, kiddo. Not when I’ve just offered you breakfast.”

The coughs subsided and he held up a hand to show he was okay. Beka didn’t believe him, but she let it go. She stepped up to his meager pile of belongings and withdrew the knife and the slingshot. “These I hold onto for a while, the rest you can keep.” She then turned and marched out the barn door and toward the house. 

Harper stared at her back, frozen for a moment in shock, then he quickly stuffed his belongings back into his pockets and ran after her.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Still wondering exactly what had happened to her good sense, Beka walked through the back door of her house and into the kitchen, trusting the kid to follow on his own. With a sigh, she checked the fire in the large cast-iron stove that dominated one whole side of the room. It was still going, but she threw another log on anyway and then set the coffee pot on to boil. Grumbling under her breath at her own lack of fortitude in the face of a little suffering, she banged around, dumping eggs and bacon into a pan and slapping dishes on the table. It wasn’t until the bacon had started spitting and the coffee pot began to hum that she realized she was still alone. Cursing softly, she stalked back to the door.

“I swear, if that kid just took off after all this, I _will_ kill him!” she ranted as she yanked the door open. Harper, who’d been sitting on the steps, jumped up sharply in surprise, bumping his back on the railing as he rose. Beka didn’t miss the flash of pain that flickered through his eyes, but for now she ignored it. 

“I said I’d feed you breakfast, so why are you still sitting out here? Food’s in the kitchen.”

The kid blinked at her again for a moment with those darn wide, blue eyes before responding.

“I didn’t… I’m not supposed…” he stammered and then trailed off. Her eyebrows climbed and she shifted impatiently.

“I didn’t think you’d want me in your house,” he finally finished, looking down as he spoke, unable to meet her eyes now.

Once again, his words had the uncanny effect of blowing all the anger out of her sails and she sighed. She’d been doing that a lot today. She hadn’t even had breakfast yet and she’d already racked up a whole day’s worth of sighs. It was definitely going to be a long day.

“Look kid…Seamus…um…Harper, I said I would feed you and I meant it, but I’m not a restaurant. You want the food, you’re gonna hafta come in and get it.” She held the door open and gestured for him to go through, but he still hesitated. Struggling not to get annoyed, she tried again.

“Harper, I’ll admit that you don’t exactly look or smell like a basket of fruit right now, but did you really think that just because you need to clean up a bit I was gonna make you eat out here like a dog?” she asked and his eyes told her that ‘yes,’ that was exactly what he had thought. Against her will, her heart softened a little, wondering just what hole this kid had crawled out of that he would automatically assume such a thing. 

“Come on, kiddo,” she said in a kinder voice than she’d used since she found him, “Just come in and sit down.” Hesitantly, he stepped into the room and walked to the bench by the table, looking around in awe and admiration as he went. Curiously, she noted that the cocky, sarcastic attitude of earlier seemed to have slipped off for the moment. Instead, he acted almost shy as he waited while she fed another log into the stove and then flipped the bacon. 

An awkward silence settled in the room as Beka finished cooking the eggs and sliced up a small loaf of bread, broken only by Harper’s occasional hacking coughs. The boy sat on the edge of the bench, his eyes darting nervously around. She thought he looked like a scared, wild animal, still half afraid she might shoot him and ready to bolt at the first sign of harm. Only the tantalizing scent of cooking food kept him nailed to his seat. She could literally hear his stomach growling and see his mouth watering. 

When the food was ready, she placed it on the table and took the pan to the indoor sink. She grabbed the pump’s handle, intending to wash up before she remembered it was broken. This sink and indoor pump was one of her pride and joys. Her father had installed it, trying to placate her finicky mother, but the motivation didn’t diminish her gratefulness. That sink saved her hours of hauling water in from the well; that is, it did when it was working. Silently, she cursed Bobby and his rather loose interpretation of “I’ll get right on it.” That had been a week ago.

“Blasted pump!” she muttered, slapping the handle in frustration. It didn’t fix the problem, but it made her feel better. “One way or another I’m gonna get this fixed today,” she grumbled.

For the first time since he’d entered the room, Harper looked up with something other than fear in his eyes. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, genuine interest in his voice.

“The stupid handle won’t move. Something’s jamming it, and I haven’t been able to fix it yet.”

A bit of the brash attitude seemed to return and he spoke up quickly. “Maybe I could look at it for ya? I’m real good at fixing things.”

 _Ha!_ Beka scoffed to herself, looking the scrawny, filthy kid up and down. He appeared about as able to fix her sink as he did to run for president. Out loud, however, she simply said, “Maybe later,” and sat down at the table.

Judging by his reluctance to enter the house, she realized that even though he was probably starving he would never grab for the food himself. She decided not to repeat the scene by the door and simply served a large portion of all foods onto his plate for him, before serving herself. He stared at the food in awe, almost reverence, as if it would simply disappear if he looked away. 

“Go on, Kid,” Beka told him, trying to keep the sadness from her voice. “Eat up. I promise it’s not poisoned.”

Harper glanced at her one more time, as if weighing the pros and cons, and then the enticing scent of the eggs and bacon won out. Completely bypassing the silverware, he simply started shoveling food into his mouth with his hand, his other arm unconsciously snaking around the plate to guard it, as if he were afraid Beka might change her mind and take it back. He ate like he hadn’t tasted food for a long while, and she tried to keep the overwhelming sense of pity that struck her from showing on her face as she watched him.

“Harper,” she asked, attempting to catch his attention and prevent him from choking to death on inhaled eggs and bacon, “when was the last time you ate?” His hand paused halfway to his mouth and his forehead wrinkled in thought as he contemplated her words. 

“I found some rolls in a window about three days ago. Before that…? I ain’t sure,” he shrugged dismissively and resumed his rapid eating. 

Having nothing to say to a remark like that, Beka simply picked up her fork and started eating her own breakfast, but her thoughts were far from the food she was barely tasting. 

_Three days!_

This kid hadn’t eaten in three days, and then only a few measly rolls he pilfered from some window. No wonder he was rail-thin. And sick, she added as she watched him shovel more food into his mouth, hoping he wouldn’t start to cough again and increase his chances of choking even further. _I really should have made him wash_ , she thought as she contemplated the germs going down with the food from that dirt-blackened hand. 

Another rogue thought flashed through her brain and this time she didn’t even bother trying to squash it. There was just something about this kid that was getting to her. Everything from his filthy appearance to his obvious nervousness should have been setting off all her inner alarms, but for some reason, he wasn’t. She should have sent him packing the moment he woke up in her barn, and yet here she was feeding him breakfast. She couldn’t put her finger on why, she just knew that when she looked into his eyes she saw something more, something…special?

 _Aw crap_ , she silently cursed. _I’m going all soft and sentimental._ But she couldn’t help it. 

A rough cough drew her attention back to her guest.

“Hey, slow down, kiddo!” she cried, visions of him dying on her floor with bacon lodged in his throat dancing past. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him. She was surprised when he hissed sharply and jerked his arm from her grasp, scooting out of her reach and glaring at her in pain and fear. 

“Don’t!” he snapped.

Belatedly, Beka remembered the open wounds and bruises that circled his thin wrists, right where she’d just grabbed him, and regret filled her.

“I’m sorry, Harper,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted you to understand that there’s no need to hurry so fast. The food’s not going to go anywhere and there’s plenty more where this came from if you want it.”

He was breathing heavily and still staring at her like a deer ready to bolt, so she simply lowered her eyes and continued to eat as though nothing had happened. After a moment, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him gradually relax and slowly start to eat again. 

They ate in silence for several minutes, but Beka’s thoughts refused to stay quiet. For reasons she couldn’t even figure out herself, she realized she had a desire to help this boy. He appeared to have the deck stacked against him, yet his whole demeanor screamed determination and a will to survive. The idea that had been tickling the back of her mind for the last hour surged forward. She really could use some more help around here. This ranch was awfully big for one person to keep up and it was starting to look run down. Sure, she had Bobby, but as much as she loved him, she’d be the first to admit he didn’t have a talent for hard work.

The sound of heavy feet on the back steps interrupted her thoughts. _Speak of the devil…_

Harper looked up quickly, the fear on his face coming back instantly as his eyes scanned the room for another way out. 

“Hey, don’t worry, kid,” she said hastily, “It’s just Bobby. He’s my fiancé; he won’t hurt you.” _I hope…_

It’s not that she thought Bobby would actually do anything to the kid, but he did have a temper and from the sound of his footsteps, she figured she could find the reason for his tardiness in a trail of empty bottles. If he was drunk, he might take exception to Beka having breakfast with some unknown kid. 

These thoughts make her frown – she hated drinking and Bobby knew that. It was one of her rules. Besides, it was way too early in the day for Bobby to be resorting to the bottle. Just what was going on?

“You never said nothing about no freakin’ fiancé!” Harper shot at her, looking betrayed.

“I didn’t think it was any of your business,” she shot right back, her annoyance with Bobby accidentally being set loose on Harper. “My house – my rules, remember?”

He glared at her but kept quiet. As the door lurched open Beka stood up, crossing her arms and leveling the entering figure with a look that could have sent entire armies running for cover.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” Bobby slurred as he stumbled through the doorway, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Don’t give me any of that crap, Bobby,” Beka hissed dangerously, moving toward him. “You’re drunk. You know my rules.”

“Aw, come on, baby. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Beka ignored the question and answered with one of her own. “You should have been back hours ago. Where have you been?”

“Town,” Bobby grumbled vaguely, seeing he wasn’t going to get the warm welcome he’d hoped for. “I had things to do.”

Behind her, Harper snorted in disgust and Bobby noticed him for the first time. His eyes narrowed dangerously and he advanced on the kid. Beka saw the terror in the boy’s eyes multiply, but he stubbornly stood his ground.

“What’s this _trash_ doin’ here?” Bobby growled. Harper sent Bobby a glare that almost rivaled the one Beka pierced him with earlier. 

Beka had been mentally deriding the kid since she set eyes on him, but when Bobby said it out loud, something inside her snapped. “He’s not trash, Bobby, and he’s here because I invited him to be, which is more than can be said for you in your current state!”

“Darlin’, look at him! I’m amazed he hasn’t robbed you blind yet. I leave for one night and I come home to find you let filth like that in our house?”

“Hey!” Harper started to protest, his eyes flashing.

“Shut up,” both Bobby and Beka retorted. The kid snapped his jaw shut, scowling, and Beka felt slightly bad. He was just an innocent bystander here but he was bearing the brunt of Bobby’s intoxication.

“My house, Bobby,” Beka reminded him curtly. “My house, and you’re also here by invitation, just like anyone else. And right now, I think we have some things to discuss. Outside,” she added, firmly steering the larger man back toward the door. Then she turned back to Harper. “You stay here,” she ordered. “Don’t sneak out and don’t steal anything or I will follow you and shoot you like I promised.” 

That said, she pushed Bobby out onto the back porch and shut the door behind her.

“What was that all about, Beka?” Bobby demanded, the liquor strong on his breath. “Were’d you find that mutt?”

Beka’s anger and frustration with Bobby were rising by the minute. Six months ago, she’d been head over heels and sure she’d found the love of her life. He’d admired her fierce independence and in return she’d allowed him to dote on her a bit. He’d even made her laugh. But lately, Bobby had become more secretive and evasive, taking off on unexplained trips and coming home late. He’d also been drinking, something he knew Beka didn’t tolerate well. And now, he was telling her what to do in her own home. She still loved him, but she was getting more than a little concerned.

“He was sleeping in the barn when I went out to do chores this morning,” she told him, crossing her arms and leaning on the railing.

“And you didn’t send him off with a cuff round the ears?”

“Bobby,” Beka sighed, “He was wet and cold and starving so no I didn’t send him packing. Did you even look at him? He’s skin and bones. There’s no way he would have lasted another day without a decent meal! Besides, you used to be all for helping the underdog, the little guy. What happened?”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all,” Bobby said, reaching out and caressing her face. Normally, she would have melted into his touch, loving the way his strong fingers traced her skin, but right now she was still too mad.

“If you’re so worried about me, you could stick around a bit more and help out. This place doesn’t run itself you know.”

For a moment his grip on her face tightened painfully and she saw anger flash through his eyes. “I told you, Beka, I had things to do.”

Looking straight at him, she shook his hand off impatiently. “Well, we have things to do here as well and I’ve decided I’m tired of waiting for you to get around to them. I need more help and that kid desperately needs a few square meals. I’m gonna ask him to stay on as a hired hand.”

Bobby exploded.

“What! Beka, he’s a filthy, little, diseased rat! He’s probably straight from some chain-gang or work camp! I won’t let you do it. I won’t let him stay!”

While both those thoughts had crossed her own mind, Beka didn’t show it. If she’d had any doubts about asking Harper to stay, Bobby’s objection pushed them all aside. He was making her so angry she was willing to let Harper stay on, if only to spite Bobby. 

“Since when have you had the right to tell me what to do on my own ranch?” she shot back, her eyes flashing dangerously. “I’ve been running the Maru since I was eighteen-years-old, long before you came into my life. I said the kid’s staying, so he’s staying. End of discussion. And if you want to keep staying here as well, you ought to think real hard where I stand in your list of priorities. Am I at the top, or am I behind a bottle and a good poker game?”

Bobby’s eyes clouded over with anger and his fist clenched like he wanted to strike her, but then he just growled in disgust and moved away.

“Fine. Keep the little runt. Just make sure he stays away from me. And when he knocks you over the head some night and makes off with all your cash, don’t come crying to me, because I warned you.” He spat the words out and then stumbled down the stairs and over to the horse he had tied to the clothesline.

“Where are you going?” Beka demanded.

“I have someone I need to go see” Bobby retorted, managing to get in the saddle and stay upright. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Beka mumbled watching Bobby ride off in a cloud of dust. Wondering just what had gone so wrong between them in the last little while, Beka sighed and went back into the house. 

She was not prepared for the sight that met her eyes. A steady geyser of water was shooting skyward from the pipe her pump handle _used_ to be attached to and the sink appeared to have eaten half of her new hired hand. Only his legs and grimy bare feet were visible sticking out from under the cupboard in the growing puddle of water spreading across her kitchen floor.

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing?” she cried, stunned by the mess. She’d only left him alone for ten minutes!

She heard a sharp crack and a muffled _“Ouch!”_ from inside the cupboard and guessed she must have scared him. Seconds later, his spiky blonde locks appeared from underneath her sink and terrified blue eyes met hers. Drops of water had mixed with the dirt on his face, leaving streaks that showed pale skin underneath.

“I’m sorry, lady! I’m sorry! I can fix it, I promise! I just wanted to do something for ya, since you fed me and all. I didn’t know the whole handle would come off like that, really I didn’t! And I can fix it, just give me a minute!” 

His words tumbled out so fast Beka had a hard time following them and he cowered back into the cupboard like he was waiting for blows to rain down. She could tell he was expecting her to explode in rage, but it was actually a very different emotion she felt growing inside her. Harper just looked so much like a five year-old caught with his fingers in the pie. Finally, she couldn’t hold it back and loud giggles welled up and burst out. Soon, she was laughing heartily, tears of mirth streaming down her face.

Harper stared at her like she’d grown another head, water dripping from his bony frame and pooling on the ground. He could have caught flies in his gaping mouth, and this set Beka laughing even harder. Tentatively, like he was unsure of his footing, he stepped forward.

“Um…lady. Ain’t you mad that I broke your pump?” he ventured.

Still smiling, Beka shook her head. “Shorty, it’s just a little water,” she told him, remembering how good it felt to really laugh. “It’s not gonna hurt anything.”

Unbelievable relief and disbelief washed over his face, and he broke into a smile that lit the whole room. With a start, Beka realized there were dimples living in those thin cheeks covered with dirt.

“Well, don’t worry, lady. I can have it fixed in a jiffy and then I’ll be on my way,” he boasted, his confidence returned. “Trust in the Harper, the Harper is good,” he assured her with a wink. 

He started fiddling with the pieces of her pump, swiftly fitting them together. Beka stepped up beside him, noting absently that he really did seem to know what he was doing.

“You still planning on going into Andromeda to find a job?” she asked him as he worked.

“Yeah,” he replied distractedly.

“What about staying here, at the Eureka Maru?”

A bolt slipped out of his hand and clattered into the sink. He looked up at Beka in confusion and she hurried on before he could open his mouth.

“Look, I have one-hundred and sixty acres of land here, thirty head of cattle, fifteen horses, and two milk cows. On top of that there’s the chickens, the garden, the house, and the barn to take care of. It’s way too much for one person, or even two people to handle. I could use some extra help. Now I’m not rich; I really couldn’t pay you, but I do promise you a warm place to sleep, decent clothes to wear, and plenty of good food to eat.” _And that no one will ever lay a hand on you if I can help it,_ she added to herself. “What do you say?”

When his power of speech finally returned he had a question of his own. “I thought you didn’t trust me?”

“I don’t,” she answered truthfully. “Consider yourself still on probation. However, until you give me reason not to, I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. But remember, my place – my rules. You decide to stay, you agree to live by those rules. If you’re crew on my ranch, you do what I say, understood?” 

He appeared to be thinking it over. 

“Does that other guy live here, too?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” Beka answered. She wasn’t going to tiptoe around this. Harper would have to learn to deal with Bobby, just like Bobby would have to deal with Harper.

“A place to stay?” he repeated. She nodded. “And I get more than two meals a week?” he questioned.

“Harper, you get at least two meals a _day_ ,” she told him forcefully.

He thought for a moment more. Finally, he nodded his head firmly. “All right, lady, I’ll do it.”

“Good,” she told him with a smile. “And the first rule? Don’t call me ‘lady.’ Makes me feel like a prissy society dame. It’s Beka, or Boss if you’re more comfortable with that.”

“Sure,” Harper shrugged. “Um, Boss?” he called, stepping away from the sink.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Your pump’s fixed.”

Startled, she realized the water had stopped flowing and the equipment was back in one piece. She reached out and pumped the handle. Clear, cool water flowed from its mouth. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d kept working all through their discussion. Her eyebrow rose as she glanced at the boy; obviously there was more to this kid than met the eye.

“Thank you, Harper,” she told him with sincerity. “You did good work. Now I have another job for you. I need you to fill all those pots with water and put them on the stove to heat while I clean up this mess.”

With a shrug, he did as he was told. She turned her attention to mopping up the floor, and then pulled several items from a cupboard and placed them on the table. As they worked, she tried to strike up a conversation, wanting to know more about him.

“So, you said your name is Seamus. Are you Irish?”

He looked at her closely, his eyes narrowing to study her face. He finally seemed to decide she was no threat and shrugged his shoulders.

“Aye,” he replied, unconsciously deepening his brogue. “I was born there. Don’t remember it much, just that it was really green and I liked the sea. We left when I was seven.”

“Why?” 

She had to wait for a particularly violent coughing fit to pass before he could answer.

“Like I said, don’t remember a whole lot. I just know we were always hungry. Máthar and Da said there was something wrong with the ground and the potatoes wouldn’t grow.”

Beka nodded. She’d heard of the famine in Ireland. Thousands had fled to avoid starvation. “So you came to America. Your whole family?”

She was fishing and they both knew it, but Harper finally answered, if in a somewhat quieter voice.

“Aye, all that was left of it. My aunt, uncle, and two cousins Declan and Siobhan had already died. Máthar, Da, my two little sisters Aileen and Mairead, my cousin Brendan and I all came across at the same time.”

She hesitated to ask the next question but if this boy was going to be living under her roof she felt she had a right to know. “Where are they now?”

He was silent for a long time and the only sound she heard was the gurgling of the water in the pots as it started to heat up. Just when she was beginning to wonder if he’d heard her at all he spoke, almost in a whisper. 

“Máthar, Aileen and Mairead died on the ship. Measles. Da died two years later after we’d come to Boston. I have no idea where Brendan is.” 

His short, clipped sentences let Beka know the conversation was over, which was fine with her because she really couldn’t think of anything to say to that. 

A strained silence filled the small room as Beka moved to the stove and checked on the water. It was Harper who finally broke it.

“So, Boss, what’s all the water for?”

“That water, my friend, is for you.”

“Me? What am I supposed to do with a bunch of hot water?”

“Bathe in it,” Beka stressed with a pointed glance up and down his small frame. He squeaked, looking like she’d just suggested he walk over hot coals instead of soak in a tub of warm water and she smiled. “Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll wash away. But first, we have another task,” she said walking to the table where she had placed two small wash tubs and a few towels. She poured some of the warm water into one basin and gestured for Harper.

“Come over here and take off your shirt.”

“What!” he cried, moving away with alarm.

“Harper, right now you have so many vermin living in your hair you could make a fortune if you charged rent. They’re not gonna go away with a little hot water and you are not staying in this house covered in lice. We need to douse your head in kerosene to kill the little bugs before you take a bath. I’m gonna help you because I don’t want you pouring it in your eyes or down your throat and I don’t want it getting in those sores on your wrists,” she said firmly, giving him no room for argument.

He argued anyway. 

“But, Boss, I’m a big boy. I can do it myself.”

“Sorry, no but’s.”

“Well, I ain’t takin’ my shirt off,” he said stubbornly, folding his arms protectively across his chest and taking another step backwards.

“Look, kiddo, this is for your own good. It’s ten times easier to wash kerosene off your skin than out of your clothes. The shirt comes off.”

Harper tried a different tactic. 

“But you’re a _girl_!”

“How very astute of you,” Beka laughed. “And I’m also old enough to almost be your mother, or at least an older sister. Nice try, but you don’t have anything I haven’t already seen.” 

She couldn’t figure out why he was being so stubborn about this. He didn’t seem the type to be embarrassed about showing a little chest around a girl; in fact, she was almost surprised he hadn’t suggested it yet himself. But the more she pushed, the more he withdrew. He was even starting to get angry.

“I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”

 _Sigh._ She really didn’t have time for this. “Actually, I can. I’m the boss, remember? Rules and all that? Now get over here and lose the shirt or I’ll take it off myself. I don’t have all day.”

He glared at her but could see she wasn’t going to budge. The anger in his eyes slowly drained, leaving behind something that Beka thought looked suspiciously like humiliation. With shuffling steps, he approached the table, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. He suddenly seemed unable to meet her eyes and Beka was puzzled; this kid’s swift mood changes left her baffled.

A few moments later the puzzlement disappeared with sickening clarity. The kid peeled off his ragged shirt to reveal a body so pale and emaciated Beka could actually count each rib. She’d been expecting that; it didn’t surprise her. 

But the rest did.

Scattered across his chest were scars of all shapes and sizes, some old looking, some fairly new. Here and there she could also see the remnants of a nasty bruise, its colors faded to an unhealthy greenish-yellow. But it was when Harper turned his back to her to set his shirt down on the bench that she had to stifle a gasp. Her mind flashed back to the moment of pain he’d shown when he bumped the railing and the stiff way he got to his feet in the barn – now she understood. Stripes laced across his back and shoulders, layer upon awful layer. The newest were puckered and scabbed and a few still oozed slightly; the skin around them red and inflamed, clearly infected. 

Beka knew of only one thing that could leave marks like that and she shuddered. Then there were the rings of welts on his wrists and his ankles, his obvious fear of people and expectation of pain… It all made a hot anger burn unexpectedly inside of her. 

_He was just a boy!_ She didn’t care what he’d done or where he’d come from, _no one_ deserved to be subjected to that kind of abuse, least of all a kid. And from the looks of him, he’d obviously endured years of it. 

Harper simply stood before her, his eyes still fixed on her shoes. He was waiting for her to say something, anything, but she found her voice had deserted her completely. Finally, he shivered slightly and stifled a cough.

“You gonna dump that stuff on my head or not?” he muttered, trying to fill the horrid silence.

His words forced her away from the awful sight and back to the task at hand.

“Yeah, come sit over here by the basin,” she said kindly, trying not to stare in horror and open pity at the scars. 

He came and sat down and she urged him to lean backwards over the empty basin. The edge of the table must have been murder digging into his raw back, but he said nothing, simply letting her support his head while she poured the foul smelling liquid liberally through his hair. Normally, Beka would have been disgusted by the dozens of little black bugs that fell dead out of his hair and into the basin below, but her thoughts were preoccupied. She was concentrating to avoid spilling in his face and eyes, but she was also trying to keep the stinging liquid from leaking down his back and into those festering sores. Eventually, after four washings, she decided she’d satisfactorily wiped out the unwanted population. She handed him a towel and told him to wipe his face off and turn around on the bench. He obeyed without speaking and the full extent of the damage to his back was exposed once more. Beka found she had a hard time continuing. 

“Now lean forward and use the water in this basin to rinse your hair a bit,” she said quietly, deciding to let him retain a little dignity and do this part himself. “It will keep the kerosene from getting into your bath water.”

Again he did as he was told, splashing the warm water over his head and neck. In the process, the grime began to wash away from his hands and arms and something caught her eye. She reached forward and took his left hand, turning it over so the palm faced up. Startled, Harper tried to jerk his arm away but this time she was prepared and held on. 

There, tattooed across the kid’s left palm in black ink was a number: _5538_. 

“What’s this,” she asked, her eyebrows rising once more.

“What’s it look like?” Harper replied snarkily, finally managing to pull his hand out of her grasp. “It’s a tattoo.”

She could tell she was pushing at sensitive subjects, but this was just one mystery too many. For her own safety, she needed to know. 

“I meant, where’d you get it?”

His glare became ice and his voice hard. 

“Prison.”


End file.
